


There is No Remedy For Love, But More Love

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shameless PWP with no real plot, just lots of steamy slash</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is No Remedy For Love, But More Love

Illya Kuryakin stretched out in the sun, letting it bake his bones. Normally the sun was something he hid from as much as possible. He was a child of the cold and snow. It was in those climes that he was the most comfortable and productive.

Yet the last round with THRUSH had left a lasting impression on him, that seemed to be the case more and more these days, and it just felt nice to celebrate life by doing nothing at all to impact it. So, he stretched out in the sun and dozed.

The wind was perfect, cooling and gentle. The birds' songs, while constant, weren't that annoying. Only one more thing could make this any more perfect.

A shadow fell across his face, but he didn't open his eyes. He could tell by the footfall it was his partner. A moment later, a familiar smell, a hodgepodge of Napoleon's favorite aftershave, soap, and Napoleon himself.

"You know, you are looking golden brown and delicious. I should lean in and take a bite out of you."

Illya smirked. "You could try, but with all the tanning oil I have on, it would mostly likely be a very unpleasant experience."

"Oh, I don't imagine you have tanning oil where I'm thinking of biting."

Illya opened his eyes at that and blinked in surprise. He was alone. _What?_

Then the patio door to their suite opened and Napoleon came out, carefully carrying a tray of drinks.

"Thought you could use something cold to drink. You looked… hot." He sat and held out a frosted glass.

"Thanks." Illya sat up to accept the glass. "I was just thinking about you."

Napoleon glanced down at the bulge in Illya's swim trunks. "So I see. Anything I can help you with?" He touched his glass to Illya's.

"I'd be a fool to say no." Illya drank and then grimaced. "What is this?"

"According to the bartender, a Passion Zombie and it's good for what ails you."

"That sounds attractive but this…" Illya sipped again. "A little sweet for my tastes. What are you drinking?"

"Something called Up Against the Wall. I think it's a Harvey Wallbanger, but they are using pineapple instead of orange juice."

"Some things just should never be messed with." Illya took another drink of his. It was sweet, but it was very cold and that was nice. "The banging of walls, for instance."

"And some things that should be messed with as much as possible." Napoleon was again eyeing Illya crotch. "Do you need something cold to take that swelling down?"

"I'd prefer something hot, but inside. I don't want to share with our neighbors."

"No one is looking and you don't make **that** much noise… usually."

"I am of no mind to play the mute today."

Napoleon stood and gestured. "Then lead on, Pooseycat. I'm going to hang back and admire the view. Those swim trunks really are a gift, you know."

"Face it, Napoleon, your attention rarely gets above the waist most days, mine or anyone else's."

"No reason when everything below is so… intriguing."

The coolness of the room made Illya's skin erupt in goose pimples. Suddenly Napoleon was there, his mouth close to Illya's and his tongue venturing out to lick Illya's lips and Illya's tongue. Napoleon took a step closer and Illya pulled away.

"Illya, what's wrong?" Napoleon frowned, suddenly concerned.

"Napoleon, I'm sweaty and greasy and you are wearing a clean suit. Perhaps your passion knows no bounds, but your dry cleaning bill does." Illya slid Napoleon's lightweight jacket off. "Besides, it wouldn't be a fair fight."

"When does it not being a fair fight ever stop you?"

"When I'm planning on losing… at least initially." Napoleon's polo shirt followed. "You are wearing a tee shirt? In this weather?"

"Says the man whose trunks contain less fabric than my handkerchief." Napoleon's voice was muffled by the removal of said item.

"There you are." Illya ran a hand over Napoleon's chest, resting it over his heart. "Like white gold. Hard, smooth, yet with a low melting point." Slowly they were getting closer and closer to the bed.

"I beg your pardon." He would have said more, but Illya moved in more, his body connecting with Napoleon's a split second before their lips met. Tongues met, stroked each other, and moved on, just as Napoleon's fingers were slipping in between cloth and Illya's waist. Their kiss wasn't exactly aggressive, nor was in gentle; it was a kiss between two men, both used to being the aggressor in this fight, neither one willing to play the submissive.

"Still too many clothes," Illya murmured, breaking the kiss and insinuating his hands between their bellies to undo the belt and the clasp to Napoleon's pants.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Napoleon rested his forehead against Illya's as he watched the process. Fly open, the pants dropped and Napoleon stepped out of them.

"Now we are evenly matched," Illya murmured. "Except for your socks and I'm willing to spot you those."

"No, wouldn't want this to not be a fair fight." Napoleon turned away and bent over to tug off his socks, only too aware of the opportunity he presented and was rewarded as he felt Illya's hands caressing his ass, a hand to either side, squeezing, caressing, spreading them apart and then together again.

Napoleon didn't straighten, well; at least he didn't straighten his torso. Another part of him was straight as an arrow and ready for its target. Instead Napoleon pulled a chair closer to lean upon, smiling as those same hands found their way beneath the waistband of his shorts and pushed them away. Glad to be free of them, Napoleon lifted first one foot and then the other.

He closed his eyes at the pleasure the large callused hands brought to his nerves. They jangled with excitement, aching for more, Illya's mouth, his fingers, his penis - Napoleon didn't care at this point. Any or all would be fine with him.

One of Illya's hands dipped to caress his thigh and then traveled up the front of it, fingers curling in to grip the muscles tightly, then relaxed to softly stroke the sensitive skin at the crease of Napoleon's leg and groin. It was sweaty and slick. Napoleon moved slightly, hoping to encourage Illya's hand to continue to his genitals. His penis ached to be touched, but Illya's hand retreated.

His hands instead travel north, lifting Napoleon from his bent position and turning him.

"Face to face is best, I think, unless you have objections." Illya's mouth was on the move now, sucking and licking little wet trails from Napoleon's neck to his shoulder and back.

"No, I love watching you." Napoleon abruptly pushed Illya backwards and then followed himself.

With a cry of surprise, Illya fell back only to land square on the mattress. His muscles, still annoyed from THRUSH's treatment , sang out their protest, but Illya shoved the pain aside. It was nothing compare to his need of feeling Napoleon upon him

"You're still wearing your trunks," Napoleon said. "We can't have that." He eased his way down Illya's body and smiled. Illya's penis peeked over the top of the waistband, like a little child desperate for a look at Santa Claus. "Someone's anxious."

With a small smile, he leaned in and blew gently at the moisture that had gathered on the tip. His grin grew as Illya made a needy little noise. "Oh, you like that, do you?" He touched his tongue to the slightly salty moisture and Illya heaved upward. "Let's get you out of those restricting garments, shall we?"

Obligingly Illya arched up letting Napoleon peel the trunks from him, sighing at the freedom it allowed his penis.

"Now it looks happy." Napoleon tossed the clothing over in the general direction of their other clothes and stretched out beside him, dragging a finger up the trail of light hair leading from Illya's genitals to his navel.

"It could be even happier," Illya said, willing his hands to stay still for the moment, determined to let Napoleon have his own moment of exploration.

"Hmm, could it be happier than this?" Napoleon rubbed a finger tip of the head of Illya's penis, massaging the slit.

"Yes," Illya managed after a moment.

"Happier than this?" Napoleon lowered his mouth and sucked gently.

Illya greeted this action with a loud moan. "Yyeess," he hissed out.

Napoleon planted a hand on Illya's abdomen, holding him flat against the bed as he worked his mouth, lips and teeth on Illya's penis. Illya's head thrashed from side to side and his fingers found their way to Napoleon's head, grabbing the dark hair and clutching, a lifeline in the plunge into need.

The other hand, Napoleon used to stroke and cup Illya's testicles, rolling them between his fingers, using just the right amount of pressure, not too gentle, but not bruising either. The fingers traveled on to Illya perineum. Illya's legs sprawled open, allowing Napoleon more access and Napoleon, being an obliging sort, took advantage of it.

Suntan oil had pooled in Illya's navel and Napoleon's fingers moved there next, bathing in the oil and then returned to their previous point, continuing down until they felt something familiar, something tight and inviting.

Napoleon removed his hand from Illya's stomach and grasped Illya's penis at its base to keep from choking as Illya thrust up in response to a finger slowly entering him.

Smiling at the inarticulate noises coming from his usually succinct partner, Napoleon withdrew the finger almost all the way out and then slid it back in again. The next time, he added a second finger and Illya's babbling degenerated into just a moan.

He could feel Illya's need to climax building, so Napoleon repositioned his first hand, applying careful pressure, stopping Illya in his tracks. He pulled back, his mouth releasing its hold on Illya's penis. His other hand, two digits buried up Illya's ass stilled, giving Illya a moment to pull back from the brink.

Napoleon pillowed his head on Illya's stomach, taking care to not even breathe on the penis that twitched unhappily.

"Do you want me to finish you off?" he asked softly, rubbing his cheek against the slick tanning oil.

"No, just give me a minute, although it you wouldn't mind…" Illya's anal muscles squeezed Napoleon's finger and reluctantly he withdrew them.

Napoleon stood and walked quickly into the bathroom for the lube, his own penis so hard, he could have drilled holes into the wall with it. He returned and flopped out on the bed, dropping the tube onto Illya's stomach. "First or second?"

"First, I think, unless you have objections." Illya's hands were already fumbling with the tube, his fingers twisting off the cap.

"Would it matter if I did?" Napoleon reached for a pillow and stuffed under that small of his back, lifting his ass off the bed.

"Not really." Illya smeared his fingers and positioned one against Napoleon's anus; it relaxed and Illya pressed in.

"Christ," Napoleon gasped. No matter how many times they made love, he was never quite prepared for that first moment of penetration. Illya knew this and moved slowly now, making sure the tense muscles relaxed before he dared to add a second finger. "Shit!"

"Preferably not right at the moment, if you don't mind." Illya kept his voice light, even though it was taking every bit of his self control not to spread Napoleon's cheeks and slam his way in. That would not be pleasant and Illya was determined to make this as good as he could. He worked his fingers in and out, occasionally spreading them, stretching Napoleon just a fraction more until he could bear it no longer.

He eased his fingers out and positioned the tip of his penis. "Ready to meet your Waterloo, Napoleon?" He pressed in, just allowing the head to push through the ring of muscles. He didn't pause at Napoleon's growl. He knew all the nuances to the noises his partner made.

At that point it was merely a case of seating himself and then pounding his way to Paradise. He had been ready to explode since Napoleon's blow job and it took just a few strokes to finish him off. He wasn't worried about Napoleon, he'd barely slid free from Napoleon's body when he was rolled onto his back, his legs lifted, and his partner was pressing into him, one long hard push, just the way Illya liked it.

Now it was Napoleon's turn and he slammed into Illya's body hard enough to nearly double Illya in two. It was enough pressure against his prostate that his own penis came back to life and he reached for it matching Napoleon's pace stroke for stroke.

Napoleon's eyes opened and Illya let him see the raw open need he had for him, his love, his willingness to be vulnerable, if only for a few minutes. It was enough to send Napoleon roaring to his climax. The feeling of Napoleon's dick throbbing against his prostate was the trigger Illya needed for his second climax and he arched, their stomachs growing sticky with his semen.

Spent, Napoleon lifted Illya's legs from his shoulders and stretched out beside Illya, who was grimacing as muscles, a moment ago so willing and malleable, now yelled at him for being stupid.

"You okay?"

A small smile. "You tell me."

"Well," Napoleon massaged the sticky semen in with the tanning oil on Illya's belly. "Not bad for an invalid."

Illya's head came up. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are on medical leave, after all."

"As are you."

"And the doctor did say lots and lots of bed rest." Napoleon smiled. "I think we are okay on the bed part, but not as good with the resting."

Illya's head plopped back and he sighed. "Our drinks are outside."

"Yes, but I think both of us agreed we're inclined to something a bit less sweet, a bit more salty. And we really should get you into that shower, massage those aching muscles…" Napoleon arched an eyebrow and Illya grinned.

"Sound good, but give me just a minute to negotiate a peace treaty with my legs."

"I have excellent negotiating skills." Napoleon wiggled around and reached for a leg. He began to carefully massage a tight muscle. "I'm thinking perhaps that was a bit much for you."

"Well, you know the answer to that."

"What?"

"According to Henry David Thoreau, 'There is no remedy for love but to love more.'"

Napoleon leaned over to kiss him. "I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
